


In My Dreams, I Bleed

by MidoriOokami



Series: The Great MP3 Mix-Up [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Inspired by Music, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Torture, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 21:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14962322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidoriOokami/pseuds/MidoriOokami
Summary: When the things from nightmares become reality, you either fight to keep them from spreading or you give up. Well, Bucky has never been someone who gives up when things get hard.





	In My Dreams, I Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> So this seems super simular to my other story Wake Up, but I think I like this one better... Anyways, this fic was inspired by Avenged Sevenfold - Danger Line, which if you haven't heard the song before I highly recommend! I suggest listening to the song while you read or not, I'm not going to tell you how to live your life. 
> 
> I wanted to move away from the Avengers Universe for this one, but it fit Bucky so well that we ended up here with another fic based in the Avengers Cinematic Universe.... sigh.... oh well, I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> I'm using the fics in this series to work on my writing skills and get back into writing, so if you find any glaring mistakes let me know!
> 
> (Also, my longest fic in the series so far!)

Avenged Sevenfold - Danger Line

 

It was mayhem. Artillery fire threw bodies and dirt into the air indiscriminately. The rain which had been falling for over a week now made the ground slick and wet. The mud jammed guns and the water soaked through shoes in an instant. Bucky had heard stories of trench foot from old vets and feared for his own feet. To live unmaimed by bullets only to lose toes and even an entire foot to nothing but water and mud, the gangrenous skin turning black and dying on a living body. 

 

But maybe they weren’t really living. Not anymore. 

 

Perhaps, Bucky reflected, his only saving grace was that he had perfect vision and a talent with a rifle. 

 

A sniper was cold, hard, lonely work, but at least he seemed to stay out of the water more than the other men. Laying in wait in roosts, cliff sides, and even in some trees. 

 

But he was on the ground in this battlefield and it was taking a turn for the worst. 

 

The Allies were losing ground. They didn’t even seem to have less men than the other guys, but maybe the enemies were fresher, better fed, more rested…

 

Whatever it was, men were falling left and right. People he knew…. People he didn’t… 

 

He loaded his gun again, looked down the sight, squeeze, kickback, another man dead….

 

How many had he killed by now? How did killing people solve anything? What was he doing here?

 

He shot another man.

 

All he knew was that he had to do his best to stop them here. They couldn’t make it any further. There were towns and villages nearby with innocent people. Every loss here in Europe made it just that much more likely for the Germans to move to the West. What if there was another incident like Pearl Harbour?

 

He gritted his teeth and fired again. They wouldn’t win. Not today. Not here.

 

But of course they would. 

 

Bucky fought like a man possessed when he was hit from behind with the butt of an empty gun, his rifle pried from his numb hands while he was beaten over the head. He could still move though, and it ended up saving his life. 

 

He was forced to march with other captured men though the mud, and he saw what happend to the men that could not walk. Quick bullets to the head or necks snapped with stomping feet or clever hands. No one here was going to make it back…

 

The cell he was forced into was cold and damp. His head was no longer bleeding, but the blood had dried in streams on his face, clumping his eyelashes together and making it difficult to see. 

 

Every day they worked.

 

Bucky continued to see people die. Anyone who couldn’t keep up. Anyone who got sick. 

 

And every day or two, another young man would be drug down the hall and they would listen to him scream and scream and scream and scream all night long…. They never came back….

 

They came in masks and lab coats to Bucky’s cell. There were 6 other men in here with Bucky. All huddled together trying to get warm when a man with round glasses and a weasel like face pointed, not at Bucky, but at a young man 18 years old just beside him. 

 

Sam Simpson. 

 

Sam cried and shouted as the  cell was opened and the jack booted thugs walked into the cell.

 

Bucky had had enough. 

 

He stood and punched one of the men as hard as he could knocking him to the ground, “He’s just a kid! You want someone to beat on, you take me! You take me, and I’m taking one of you!” He kicked the man in the head and felt more than heard the neck give way. 

 

This was sick. This was stupid. He never wanted to be here in the first place. 

 

“Grab him.” Was all the white coat said before the other man was grabbing him and forcing him to his knees beside the cooling body on the floor. “Your name.” White coat glared while the other soldier grabbed his hair and shook him like a misbehaving animal before forcing his face up. 

 

“Sergeant James Barnes” He snarled. 

 

“Well Sergeant, congratulations, you are now indicted into the program. I suspect you won’t live through the procedure, but any data we collect from you will be useful… and you are clearly too much trouble to keep around with the working class.” White coat adjusted his glasses before looking to the man holding Bucky down, “Bring him into Lab 4 and have him strapped to the table for when I get there.” Then he turned on his heel and left.

 

Bucky was forced up and marched as quickly as possible to Lab 4 and he thought about fighting, giving them as much trouble as he could before they killed him. But he hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks let alone had a decent night's sleep in months and his one act in the cell had left him drained. 

 

He was forced onto a table and all time ceased to exist. 

 

“Steve?” What the hell was Steve doing here!? And why was he so big!?

 

“Come on Buck, we gotta get out of here.” And all of a sudden Bucky found himself hoisted up onto his feet and they were running. 

 

What weird dream was this?

 

Steve bigger than Bucky, a man with a red face. What drugs was Zola giving him?

 

The dream never seemed to stop.

 

He was marching on legs that he couldn’t feel, swearing to himself that even if this was a dream, he wasn’t going back until he had his gun back and he could shoot as many of them as he could. They weren’t going to win, even if they killed him, there were others like him, enough of them like him that the Germans could never win. And nothing was going to stop Bucky now that he was out, he’d crawl if he had to. 

 

It seemed less like a dream when his own gaunt face stared him back through the condensation on his beer glass, while Steve tried to flirt with a pretty girl. 

 

It seemed more like a dream when he was placed on this team with a Black man, a French guy, and an American Japanese fellow. There was also a guy named Dum Dum. The only person who seemed halfway normal was Falsworth and he was British. 

 

Guns also vaporized people in this strange inbetween world. 

 

But the cold was just as bitter, the mud was just as difficult to slog through, and his bullets piercing through the bodies of their enemies was just as gruesome as before. 

 

But Bucky had a family safe at home. He had his sisters and his Ma and Pa. He could and would kill these dream people for them. They would never have to know his nightmares. 

 

He knew that everytime he stepped onto the battlefield could be his last. He wasn’t a super soldier like Steve, he couldn’t just shake it off or jump over a tank if he needed to. 

 

So he took the laughs when he could, ribbing Steve about Coney Island, luxuriating in the ability to make a giant Steve with all the bulk and muscle that came with it blush just as bad as the tiny version. 

 

He wasn’t scared. 

 

Even when he was in that train compartment and his gun had jammed. He’d seen his end then and he hadn’t felt fear. He hadn’t felt fear in a long time. 

 

But then Steve was there and he was going to live to see another day. He could take more of these bastards down with him. 

 

The blast bounced off the shield and ricocheted into the wall, and he was falling through. 

 

His hand snapped out. He wasn’t going out yet, not yet. Not today. ‘SIdes, Steve was there, he’d grab Bucky for sure.

 

….Or maybe, this was the end of the line.

 

He didn’t remember the fall, or the landing, but he was lying in the snow and he couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. He laid in the snow and recognized that he wasn’t getting out of this one. His body was going to quit here, alone, somewhere in the Alps.

 

He’d never thought that he would die alone. He’d thought he go in some big battle, that even if he died there’d be other people around, not this suffocating quiet and endless white. Or somehow, he’d get out of here and live to be old, still best friends with Steve, he’d get to complain about the youngin’s that would cause trouble in the neighbourhood just like him and Steve had done in their youth…

 

This was okay though.The end of the line had to come sometime. 

 

Buck had stopped being religious the moment Sarah Rogers died.

 

He remembered believing as a young child that if there ever was an Angel that walked on Earth, it was Steve Rogers’ Ma. 

 

Endlessly kind, effortlessly giving, even when they had so little.

 

If there was a God, why would he take her away from the people who needed her?

 

And when he had stepped onto the front and saw men dying and drowning in mud…. He’d thought, what kind of God would let something like this happen? How could God, divine and righteous, let people die so needlessly? 

 

But maybe Sarah Rogers would come for him. Maybe she died cause the Lord was short on Angels and knew the terrible times that would come. 

 

He hoped that someone had left the light on for him up there. 

 

His eyes were still open, but he couldn’t see anything anymore, but even so….

 

_ I’m Free _

 

**Author's Note:**

> ..... And we all know how that freedom worked out.....


End file.
